


Solispiro

by Kalira



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing, Inspired by Music, M/M, Podfic Available, Solipsism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: An invitation, a breath, a moment - a pattern danced together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	Solispiro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actualmuffin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualmuffin/gifts).



> This was written for a small, random prompt exchange game, for the song/video [Suspirium, by Thom Yorke](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTZl9KMjbrU), submitted by actualmuffin.
> 
> It was an unexpectedly tricky prompt, but I'm quite pleased with what I worked out from it - my first piece written for this fandom after having read in it for over a decade.
> 
> The title is stitched-together Latin; breath pertaining to the sun.
> 
> There is now a [podfic version](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26700049), read by me!

“Crowley, dear, have you forgotten our-” Aziraphale stopped as he came around the back wall, unneeded breath catching.

Crowley took another turn, long legs carrying him through a fluidly graceful twist that, somehow, looked both the most _human_ thing and as though it came directly from his serpent shape. He passed into a shaft of light from one of the skylights not yet blocked off - they would all have to be covered before Aziraphale’s books could be brought to live here, so for now the small warehouse was empty save for their cosy little sitting area - and nearly shone with it before he slipped away into the shadows beyond once more.

Aziraphale felt a lurching, squeezing ache in the core of his being, watching raptly. He was drawn inexorably closer, eyes fixed on Crowley as he danced. Aziraphale was barely even aware of the music playing, as though it were solely a part of Crowley’s movements; it was unfamiliar, a tune both heavy and sweet, with the beat of a waltz but drawn into something new and strange.

Crowley turned and moved back into the light and something inside Aziraphale eased, just a touch, to see it. Crowley’s sunglasses were off and as he tipped his head towards Aziraphale his eyes nearly glowed in the sunlight.

“Angel,” Crowley said, and in this slow, honeyed moment it wasn’t strange that he didn’t stop his dance, any more than it was when he reached out a hand and curled his fingers and Aziraphale moved in, hand stretching out to shadow Crowley’s. They almost clasped hands for a moment as Aziraphale moved past Crowley, then turned away from each other - almost against each other - hands coming away.

It was unlike any dance Aziraphale had ever studied or seen, but Crowley _moved_ and he followed, as easy as though it was what they had done from the first, millennia ago.

Crowley’s lips tilted in a somehow hazy smile and he wound around Aziraphale without touching him, yet all heat and physicality that should have felt either unreal or _too_ real for the human bodies they wore. Perhaps both together.

Their breathing matched as they moved together, turning and weaving a pattern between them, hands passing by one another but never - quite - touching. It was smooth and endless and barely moments that they danced together before Aziraphale realised, slowly, that they had ceased.

Crowley smiled at him, a slow curve shaping his mouth into something sweet and sultry at once, and their hands finally came together in a gentle clasp.

“Angel.”

“Crowley. Darling,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley’s smile grew just that little bit sweeter as he moved closer.

Crowley rolled his shoulders and began to shift back towards his usual self - not quite the _persona_ he wore around everyone else, but not . . . this, intimate and strange and true all at once. “Have we missed our reservations? I’m sure the Bentley can-”

“Darling.” Aziraphale drew him closer once more. “The reservations can hang.”

Crowley’s eyes flicked to meet his own, and Aziraphale rested their brows together. “Is that so?” Crowley asked quietly, that smile returning.

Aziraphale returned it; a smile, he thought, that he had never worn before, a smile that would only fit born in this very moment. He drew Crowley in, and gasped at the heat of him as he wound around Aziraphale again, twining their bodies together as they sank to the floor in a new course of the dance, bathed in sunlit warmth together.


End file.
